Fire Lady
by Jasmine Dragon
Summary: Mai watches from the shadows, and looks with envy into the eyes of the woman in whose shoes she so desperately wants to be in. Onesided Maiko Aangst.


**Disclaimer: Don't own.**

I can see them, you know. It may seem as if I am blind to them, or perhaps that I no longer care for what goes on with the man that I love, but I assure you, I can still see them.

I can see him sitting by the pond where he used to feed turtle ducks with his mother, and I can see her walking up to him, sitting by him, and softly saying something inaudible into his ear. I see him passing a piece of bread to her to toss at the turtle ducks, and I see her accepting, and then feeding them quietly by his side.

I see them talk after a while of sitting, when all the bread has run out, and I see him lean in to kiss her, and my eyes narrow as I watch her put her arms around him, and I feel… _something_ in my gut as they draw apart and lean on each other and begin talking about Agni knows what. It doesn't matter to me what they say, only that they can do this every night, for the rest of their lives, which they have the opportunity to spend together. And I wanted that with him. And I know I could have done to him what she is doing now, but as I look into his eyes as he laughs with her, I wander exactly _what _she is doing to him, and why it never happened when he was around me.

And as I watch them in each other's arms, I feel the same way as I did a year ago, when they did the same thing, although this time, I do not cry out; I do not grab the front of his robes, and ask him, with desperation in my voice, why, _why_ he chose her and not me.

I did something that day, which I swear I shall never do again. I cried, with real tears in my eyes, and I saw his eyes fill up too, but not with the pain, and pure, heart-wrenching hurt that tore me apart, but with something else. His eyes were filled with sorrow. He pitied me. He _pitied _me.

There was nothing more in his heart for me. There was just pity for the girl he would never love back. And as I saw this, I removed all the emotion from my face, wiped away my tears, which I swore, I would never shed again, apologized for my inhibition, and left for my house, silence in my speech, and coldness in my aura. My eyes remained narrowed, as I threw my knives at the dartboard in my room repeatedly, and I simply suppressed the tears when they threatened to spill again. I would not face humiliation like that again. I would not be _pitied_ by the very man who I had once loved; whom I was so sure loved me back.

The tears that escaped me that one day did not come six months ago, when they got married, and their bond was fixed, and she found herself where I should have been: at his side. Instead, to reassure the world I was over my childhood sweetheart, a few weeks later I was wed to a faceless nobleman, whom I never loved, and never will.

The tears never came two months ago, as the people of the palace started to notice her stomach grow large, and even though I wanted to break down again, to cry, to scream, to do _something_, but my childhood training came up again, and I did not speak unless spoken to, I did not show any emotion, I did not express my opinion, I did not express anything. I simply stayed quiet, calm and impassive.

And the only time I can escape the prison that is my own being, and allow my face to contort with the rage that tears me apart, is when I am alone in my room, and practice my knife throwing. After a while, it gets boring to keep hitting your target, but the anger taken out in aiming and throwing with deadly precision is refreshing, especially when you have a special someone in mind while taking aim.

But I never cry. I swore to myself I would never cry again, and I will not. I may scream, I may shout, I may internally explode, but nobody would ever be there to see me, for in the eyes of the world, I am blank, impassive, for I will never let anybody inside me again, and nobody will ever be allowed to read me ever again. I have given away too much for that.

But there is another reason I refuse to express myself and my feelings. After all he has done to me, after the hurt I felt as my first, and only love decided not to love me back, I still must say I still love him, and if there is one emotion I feel, no matter how I hide it, it is passion. And I understand that if I love him, I want him to be happy, even if I am not his happiness.

I thought it was me that made him happy. All those lazy afternoons spent on beaches and cliffs, gazing into sunsets while resting in one another's arms, I truly thought what I saw in his eyes was love. I truly thought that he was happy, as I was.

But what I see now, as he holds her close, talks to her, puts stray locks of hair back behind her ear, that is not what I saw when he was with me. It is something different, and yet, he is still happy. And although, through my emotionless mask I can see that he feels for each of us differently, I can also see that he loves only one of us, and as I stand here, once again reminding myself of the disgrace that it is to cry, I realize that it is not me right now who is about to grow large with is child.

So I remain silent when it comes to my pain around him, for I do not want him to share it. I remain quiet in my thoughts about his choice for wife, as I know I will not be her, but I do not know why. All I know is that she makes him happy, and that she achieved something I was unable to, and although I despise her for that, I am still unsure if I will hurt her for it.

So as I aim my knives at the board on my bedroom wall, there is one that I do not use, I safeguard it, and it is reserved for a special person, a special occasion. I will use one day to take the life of the woman who loves Fire Lord Zuko.

**A/N: Who will that be? Mai or Katara? You decide. **

** Yeah, yeah, crappily written love story... Sue me. Either way, I'd love your reviews****! Thanks**

** Jasmine **


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